


Father Figure

by brodiew



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Father Figures, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Honor, I suck at tags, Introspection, Love, but here are a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodiew/pseuds/brodiew
Summary: Beth mourns and remembers Mr. Shaibel, wanting to honor him in some way.
Relationships: Beth Harmon & William Shaibel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> This aspect of the series was very important to me. Though their relationship was unique and not fraught with words, it was incredibly meaningful to both of them. I hope this scratches the surface of what he meant to her.

Father Figure 

There were times when Beth wanted to talk to Mr. Shaibel, to ask his opinion on strategy or see what he thought of her play. To ask if he was proud of her. She never considered him during her rise to prominence and she regretted it. Her drive had been so consuming and her need to win so devastatingly addicting. She wondered what he thought as he pinned each newspaper clipping to his board. Was he happy? Was he sad? Did he want to reach out to her, but didn't think he should or could? Did he worry about her addiction. He must have known what Bethuen was doing. He never mentioned it though, even after the incident with the jar of pills. He would have been the one to clean it up. He would have heard them talking. He would have known she was in the Infirmary. He never came to visit her. She remembers conjuring him in her fevered withdrawal. She would see him standing outside the door, looking in, his shoulders hunched and his stoic frown. It was never a nasty look. Just his sad and weary gaze. When she was released from the Infirmary and went to resume their games, she found the door locked. It frustrated her. But she understood his correction. It had been the same as when she called him a cocksucker and he banished her what seemed like weeks when it was in fact only a week or two. One the day she had found the door open again, she found him sitting at the table ready to play. He never chastised her or demeaned her. They played. And played. And played.

They connected over the board. She did not think of it while she was there, at Bethuen. She was too focused on learning the game. Too focused on winning, too bull headed to learn all the lessons he was trying to teach her. Because, if she had been listening, she would have learned that chess is not just about strategy and victory. It is emblematic of life. She was still learning this. She was still leaning that she couldn't win all the time. There will be better players. In chess. In life. As she reviewed their games, in her head, there was more he was trying to teach her. Lessons about graceful losing, controlling her temper, consequences of wrong choices, social etiquette. She wondered if they had spoken more openly that she would have received those lessons. She doubts it. She thinks it would have destroyed things between them. She would have pushed back even harder and he would have ended the games permanently. 

The experience at the orphanage, however tightly managed, was not overtly abusive or awful. It was what it was and Jolene and Mr. Shaibel helped her through it. Being there again was strange though. Not in a bad way, per se, just strange. It felt like so long ago. Like another life. She looked around, memories ricocheting around her brain. But there was really only one purpose. When Jolene asked if she wanted to go back, her immediate response had been no, but she hadn't meant it. He was gone and she was in denial, if only briefly. She didn't want to believe that there was never even a chance to see him again. The fact that she had never thanked him for the tournament entrance money suddenly weighed on her like giants sacks of potatoes. And not just that she had never written him, but as her fame grew, she never once thought to go visit him. Or, If she had thought of it, she never did it. It hit hard that he was so close in proximity, but so far away in her mind. How hard would it have been, while living with Alma, to go see him on a weekend. I would not have been hard at all. But everything else seemed so much more important. When she entered that basement for the last time, it was slow and easy, with reverence and honor, even before she saw the table and his kitchenette. Before she saw the his board of news clippings. It was overwhelming to know that he cared. To know that he thought about her often and was proud of her accomplishments. To know that this solitary man had taken a solitary girl and given her a gift that was still paying dividends in the present rocked her. The skill was hers. The talent and aptitude were hers. But gift had been his. The time had been his to give. The patience and perseverance had been both of them. The board was love. The kind of love that did not have to be earned, that as not based on performance. Even then, standing before his demonstration of love, she had trouble accepting it. She did, in part. She mourned his loss and admitted his importance to herself. But it had not been enough to silence her demons. 

Now, those demons were being managed and the kind of love Mr Shaibel had shown her was being exhibited in a new way by and with Harry. She wanted to remember him somehow, in some tangible way, but plaque at Bethuen or even a memorial of some kind seemed average and insignificant. After talking with Harry and Benny and Mike and Matt, they decided that a foundation of some kind would be the best way to remember him. An annual scholarship offered for excellence in the game of chess. She liked the idea, but wondered if Shaibel would have liked it. He was a private man. A man of few words, but fierce loyalty and determined. She decided that this decision was hers and hers alone. She would open the William Shaibel Foundation for Chess Excellence. It was the least she could do to honor the only man she would ever think of as her father.


End file.
